


My Affairs

by Punk



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Dark Humor, Epistolary, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-09-21
Updated: 1997-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk/pseuds/Punk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully finds herself writing a letter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Affairs

**Author's Note:**

> I got tired of reading Scully's cancer letters. You know what I'm talking about: "Mulder, as I look into the darkness of my future and the blah blah blah on this path blah I know that you will be lonely blah blah cancer blah carry on." (I blame CC for this.) So I wrote my own.

I'm dying, Mulder. Fucking dying. Can you believe it? Me, Dana Scully, dying. It's almost ridiculous.

The bureau psychologist suggested I get my affairs in order. I laughed. I did. Had to back out of the room like I had a stain on my butt. Dumb smile on my face. Yeah. My affairs. Sounds good. I'll do that. Sure.

My affairs. Nearly snorted coffee out my nose, hearing that one.

My affairs. I don't _have_ any affairs. Maybe one or two, years ago. I certainly have dreams about affairs. But I never...never actually had any.

Nothing cheap and tawdry. Not even drawn out and tawdry. I never even looked twice at the guy behind the counter at the coffee shop. It was laughable. _Is_ laughable. Hell, I'm laughing now.

Maybe I'll go out an get myself some affairs to settle. Order a double latte, a cafe Americana. Dazzle Mr. Coffee with my caffeine vocabulary. Order enough coffee to keep us both up for a week straight. Look twice. Look a third time. Look just once -- it only depends how.

I'll just skillfully omit the fact that I'm dying. Neon-lighted hotel rooms and studio apartments aren't the best places to share such tidbits of information anyway.

I doubt it'll even come up.

I'll need something new to wear. Something tight and insane. Rules out my existing wardrobe. Like you care. Why am I telling you this? This was supposed to be about good-bye.

Whatever.

I could go clubbing. It sounds so violent. Maybe just one club. I could go to a club. Still sounds violent. Maybe I'll just stay home.

The phone's ringing. It's you. I know it's you. You'll go away.

But staying home won't get me anywhere. It's not often that I find affairs waiting for me in the refrigerator. Ben and Jerry were in there earlier in the week, but I already settled our business. It was enjoyable, but brief. No bowl.

The phone again. Call me when you've got something nice to say. I know you're looking for the Badalamenti file. I have it. I'm using it as a coaster. Wouldn't want to leave rings on the coffee table. Hey, want my coffee table, Mulder? I know yours is on its last leg, if you'll pardon the pun. I saw the matchbook you have crammed under it to make it level, and it's still listing. I also know about the magazines you have stashed under your couch. It's filthy down there, and I'm not talking about the dust.

So. New affairs seem out of the question. Old affairs?

It's possible...with the help of a medium or a flash of the FBI badge to get me past security. All the men who have shown any interest in me in the past few years are now either dead or in jail. I guess you could call that settled.

Sorry, baby, can't wait for you to get sprung. Got other commitments. Bye.

Guess that wasn't the point.

Get your affairs in order. Current, in-progress affairs. I could cancel my cable. Clean out my coupon drawer. God, I'm boring. I can't possibly be this boring. I refuse to admit it. Why bother dying? It's not like anything will change.

Low blow.

Okay. So I said good-bye to Ben and Jerry. They were good to me. Saturated fat up the kazoo. Make that coffin an extra-wide.

I'm not sure about this. What do you think, Mulder? I never had that famed morgue humor. I left that up to you. Guess I left a lot of things up to you.

My cell phone this time? I can't even ignore you in peace. I'm not going to answer. Why didn't you just leave a message on my machine, pinhead?

Oh, you're not going to like that. Insults from Beyond The Grave. I'm smiling, Mulder. You know that? I'm in a good mood. I'm dying, but I'm in a good mood. What do you think about that? Yeah. I know what you think about that. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked.

How about the delete key, Mulder? Ever ponder that key? Not like you could find this file if you had a map and a flashing sign...but that key's done us a lot of harm. And the escape key...and hey -- what about this thing here ~ who _uses_ that key? Huh? I'm talking to you. ~ and ` what is that?

Damn, I should...I should probably be going. And here I thought I could maybe at least settle our affair. The one I've been avoiding these past weeks. The only one that matters. I'm not chickening out on you, Mulder, I swear. I'll do this in person. I just need some time to get used to it. Time to get used to the fact that I'm not going to be around.

Screw Ben and Jerry, okay? On second thought, do something for me. Pull out your favors, get those two guys to name a flavor after me: "Chunky Scully." No really. See, I made you smile. I think. I think that would make you smile. See, I don't really know anymore.

Hmm. This didn't turn out the way I expected it. Yeah, this letter, but life too. We were always looking over our shoulders...but we never really looked inside.

My phone just made a brief beep, like you wanted to call but hung up at the last second after realizing your finger had betrayed you and pushed the button anyway. I bet your phone's made that noise a few times. Just a guess.

You're on your way here. I know you. I do. And I'll say my good-byes in person because I've always been honest that way. Not tonight though. I'm dying, but I'm not dead tonight.

I'm not going to argue semantics with you, Scully.

Did you say that to me once? It sounds like something you'd say. Po-tay-toe, pah-tah-toe. Let's call the whole thing off.

You know this stuff gets in the middle of my field reports? I'll be typing along about the case and suddenly, there I am, standing in the middle of my report. I read everything fifty times before I turn it in to Skinner. He wouldn't be amused. I would die of...die. I would die of humiliation. More painful than cancer; I'd wager.

Just a joke.

So where are you, Mulder? The Sci-Fi channel is promising an Original Sci-Fi Movie. It looks too horribly bad for you to miss a second of it. Oozing weird mutant creatures who can't be killed with a gun but require great amounts of pyrotechnics instead. There's a good chance they suck your brain out. Cool, you're thinking.

Maybe I should have answered the phone. I could have told you to buy ice cream. Funny, dying is like being pregnant. You get these urges. Carrots. Yesterday I ate four carrots. Just standing there, in my kitchen.

Urges.

Woah, drifted off for a moment there.

Damn, did it again.

It's been fun, you know. Forget what I said about those affairs. I was obviously delusional. Very. The guy at the coffee shop really isn't even that cute. Yes, I looked. There's something about the way he says "mocha" though...it's very...carnal.

I can't believe that I just--

There it is. Your knock at my door. You must have stopped by at the store first or something. Or drove the speed limit for once. If you'll excuse me, I have to answer the door. Are you jealous? I'm smiling again, Mulder. Smile for me, okay? Once or twice, when you decide to think of me. I'd...I'd like that.

You better be smiling when I open that door, Mulder, or I'll never forgive you.

Okay. Here goes.

I have an affair to settle.


End file.
